


the tops only special

by Fictropes



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Attempt at Humor, Drunkenness, M/M, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 10:14:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30137997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fictropes/pseuds/Fictropes
Summary: “I like it.”“Thanks.” Phil smiles. “Want a top?”
Relationships: Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Comments: 24
Kudos: 145





	the tops only special

**Author's Note:**

> this is just the bakery version, someone please write teh version where it's a bar...

Dan’s halfway to drunk or maybe three quarters, he can’t tell. All he knows is he _can_ walk in a straight line, but he can’t stop laughing at the image of a horse his mind has conjured up. His friends keep asking him what’s so funny, but he can’t tell them. Firstly, it’s his and secondly, he doesn’t know how to explain it. The horse is wearing a leather jacket and sunglasses, and that’s fun, but he doesn’t think anyone else will get it. 

He looks down and his shoes are dirty, which makes sense because he’s been standing in every puddle to test out the depth. And when he’d tried to stop his brain got all evil and demanding, which resulted in him backpedaling to stand in the puddles he’d walked past. What if the ones he’d missed had been the deepest? He’d forgotten about it when they walked into a bar but now he’s remembered, so the puddle next to him—

“Dan, wanna try in here?”

Dan tips his head back, met with a building he’s never seen before in his life despite having lived in this city for five years. Must be new, or Dan must just live inside his own head. It’s bright blue, obnoxiously so, and all the gay tinsel in the window means he can’t see inside—he _wants_ to see inside. He cranes his neck even further, and that’s when he sees the rainbow flag next to some letters that definitely spell out _tops only._ It makes him honk in the middle of the street. 

“Sure.” He says. 

They shuffle in single file like they’re on a school trip, he half expects someone to hand him a little paper bag with a sandwich in it—a bruised apple, god he wants an apple. He’s so hungry. Everyone had refused the idea of ordering the fries at the last place. His stomach is rumbling, or maybe it’s the traffic on the main road. He can’t tell. He’s definitely three quarters drunk. 

They’re so close to being inside, then Dan trips on the little green doorstep and goes flying. He thinks it’s the end, that he’ll wake up in hospital where someone will hopefully finally feed him. But he doesn’t meet the floor, instead there’s a strong set of arms holding him up. He likes it—being held. 

“You good?” A voice asks, and it’s not one of his friends. It’s something deep, rumbly, and the fact Dan can physically feel it means they’re probably stood too close. He rocks back and wishes he hadn’t because now he has to cope with a face he hadn’t been prepared for. 

He’s so pretty. He’s also wearing a little apron, carrying a tray of cupcakes, being—not a gay bar. This man isn’t a gay bar. 

“You’re not a gay bar.”

“No.” The voice sighs, and Dan thinks he’s about to get lectured, which is refreshing. Sometimes Dan wishes people in retail would shout at him more, because sometimes he puts things down in the wrong place because he really can’t remember where he’d picked it up from. He does try though, he honestly does.

“No? You know?”

“Look—no one told me. I spent so long designing the place and everyone was just like... cool. Do you know how much signs costs? No one told me what it sounded like.”

“Sounds like...” Dan makes a lewd hand gesture, which he thinks gets the point across. 

“Yeah, sounds like your hand skin slapping together.” The not gay bar agrees. “Too late to change it.”

His friends are back and they’re not happy. They’re talking about leaving and—Dan doesn’t want to. It’s not a gay bar, sure, but it’s got something about it. Feels like it’s physically holding his hand. There’s a comfort to the place, and Dan’s grown tired of the blaring music, of the overpriced drinks, of the being next to sweaty people. 

“Gonna stay.” He decides. “You go.”

They don’t even try and change his mind, just all single file back out the door. 

It’s a bakery, Dan thinks. But it’s fucking huge in a way bakeries usually aren’t. There are tables and chairs as far as the eye can see, but Dan’s literally the only person in here. Maybe it’s busier when it’s not ten pm. Which is a question, actually. Why’s it open at ten pm? He turns around to ask but the man is gone. 

Had he imagined him?

“Hi?” Dan tries, but he’s just met with silence. He feels a bit upset. He’d only gotten to stare into the dudes eyes for like half a second, which isn’t long enough to tell if it’s true love. He needs a glass of water, he really needs to be less drunk. He can’t fall in love with people after one second. 

Dan walks across the wooden flooring, and sometimes it creeks beneath his feet. Original features are fun, not putting down carpet is—there’s a painting of a cupcake wearing sunglasses on the wall. Everything is so unbelievably funny to Dan tonight. He touches it with his evil hands, and that’s when the guys reappears. 

“Careful.” The voice warns, much closer than Dan had been expecting. “Worth more than the Mona Lisa that.”

“It is?” Dan snatches his hand away, holds it tight against his chest just incase it gets any ideas, “sorry.” 

The guys laughs and it’s something silentand spitty. Dan wants to tell him to be louder—that he can be louder—but even drunk he knows you still shouldn’t suggest a stranger remix their noises. 

“No, it’s really not. How drunk are you?”

“Erm—three quarters.” Dan decides, because if he were fully drunk he’d likely be on the floor. And if he were only half drunk he wouldn’t have just been so gullible . 

“Ok.” The guy smiles brightly, and Dan can’t work out if it’s genuine or something he learnt at customer service school, “sit.”

“On... the ground?” Dan asks, wide-eyed but compliant. He lowers himself halfway but is stopped by a hand gripping his bicep. 

“No, god, not on the ground.” He laughs, but this time it’s louder. “On one of the three million seats.”

“Oh—makes sense. I do like your ground though.” Dan says, and he thinks it’s a very understandable thing to say. And—oh. He remembers what he wanted to ask now. “Why are you still even open?

“Everyone always asks that.” 

Dan doesn’t ever want to be _that_ guy, but the need to know his name is getting too much. He leans forward on the chair he’s chosen, getting a good look at the name tag. 

“So why, Phil?”

“Erm—“ Phil stumbles, for the first time, “thanks?”

“For what?”

“I dunno,” Phil shrugs, “reading?”

Dan giggles, which is stupid because he doesn’t even think anything that’s happening is technically funny. 

“It’s ten,” Dan says, “at night. At night time. The sky is dark, and—is McDonald’s even open at this time?”

“McDonald’s is definitely open at this time, yeah. Aren’t they like twenty four hours?” Phil asks, and he’s hovering at Dan’s table like he’s either waiting for him to order or throw up. 

“So why?” Dan repeats, going a bit whiny. It’s probably not even a good reason, but Phil’s dodged the question so much that’s it’s suddenly really interesting. 

“When I was a student I used to—wander.” Phil sits. “And it was late at night after I was stressed with all the revising. I used to wanna go into somewhere... quiet? But the only places that were open were bars.”

And it makes sense, because Dan had been the same. He’d wanted out of his shitty student flat and into somewhere that didn’t feel like it was suffocating him. 

“I like it.”

“Thanks.” Phil smiles. “Want a top?”

“Oh come on, you know how that one sounds.” But it makes Dan laugh anyway. 

“Yeah.” Phil smirks, “know that one.” 

Phil gets up and Dan doesn’t know what to expect. There’s not a food group on the little triangle called tops. Unless Phil is only serving the food in the top part of pyramid. But Dan swears that’s like red meat and grains. He looks around whilst Phil is gone, realises the chair he’s sat on is something velvet. He runs his hand along it and thinks maybe if push comes to shove he could sleep sprawled across a few of them. They’re very blue though, is colour distracting whilst you’re trying to be asleep? 

“Hey.” Phil is back with a plate of something and—oh. Everything makes sense all of a sudden. 

“Tops.”

“Exactly!” Phil grins. “Just the tops. They’re the best part.”

“They are.” Dan agrees, sticking his finger in the copious amount of buttercream. He doesn’t know if this will help at all, or if his body will still demand fries, but anything to stop the rumbling. 

Phil’s staring, so Dan licks it off his finger in a way that he’s hoping is seductive. If the way Phil laughs is anything to go by he’s definitely missed the mark.

“Not quite in your mouth.” 

“Huh?”

“God—“ Phil leans over the table, uses the edge of his apron to dab at Dan’s chin, “messy.”

“Not sexy?” Dan blurts, because he’s never in charge of what comes out of his mouth so why would today be any different. 

“No, that particular thing wasn’t sexy,” Phil says. Which doesn’t mean that he doesn’t find Dan a bit sexy, just not when he’s missing his mouth and getting vanilla buttercream all over his own face.

He sits in silence as he eats, thinks it’s for the best. And it’s all really fucking good. He could eat an entire plate of it and have a toothache but be satisfied. Pretty owner aside, he’s going to come back. His past baking attempts have all been mysterious at best, so he’s immediately interested in anyone who can stop him from just making flour soup. 

“S’good.”

Phil clears his throat, wriggles around in his seat for a reason Dan doesn’t understand until he says, “yeah, got that from all the noises.”

“Sorry. Been told I am very loud.” 

“That’s one way to put it.”

“Do I need... to leave?” Dan asks, and he really hopes the answer is no. He doesn’t want to get up, he doesn’t want to have to go and find his friends in another sticky bar. He wants to stay here and make himself sick via sugar. He wants to stay here and convince Phil he’s actually a human person. 

“You don’t need to leave, don’t close till eleven. Got half another half an hour left.” Phil stands, picking up the empty plate.“Do you need a glass of water? Coffee? The antidote?” 

“The—“ Dan stares at the now empty plate in Phil's hand, thinks about all cupcake in his stomach, “poison?”

“God.” Phil laughs, even louder than the time before. “You really are drunk. Come on.”

They end up at the counter, Dan now clutching his second cup of coffee between his hands. He’s enjoying the warmth, also enjoying the fact it’s letting him say words that make actual sense. 

“I was just getting tired of bars,” Dan explains, “I was actually happy when I came in here and saw this.”

“You’d be the first.” Phil’s leant over the counter, chin in his hands. He’s really—god, he’s Dan type. “Most people come in and then turn right back around, but I think they could all secretly do with a little cupcake rest. I’m like the sugar pit stop no one wants but everyone needs.”

“I want it. It’s good, you’re good. I like it. I wanna—teach me to bake?” Dan demands, which means he definitely needs at least another three cups.

“Think that’d take more than a night, and it’d—you can’t be drunk round knives? I think? That’s the rule, yeah?” Phil’s tapping on the counter, and he’s getting closer and closer to the back of Dan’s hand, “come back another day and I’ll teach you.”

“Yeah?” Dan asks, and for some reason that makes him feel more sober than anything else up to now. The fact Phil is willingly offering up his time, wants to see Dan again is—nice. Really fucking good. 

“Yeah.” Phil confirms. “Teaching a pretty man how to bake sounds like a fun way to spend a day.”

Dan just makes a noise. The times he needs his mouth to actually work is always when it betrays him. 

“Sorry, Christ, I’m not like— you’re drunk.”

“No, no.” Dan rushes to try and explain, but he still can’t think of anything so he just keeps repeating the same word over and over again until he settles on, “I’d like that. I think—erm I like how your face is?” 

Phil finally taps the back of Dan’s hand. And Dan thinks about one quarter drunk now. 

“You’re just a box of words in like a hat.”

“No?”

“Yeah.” Phil laughs. “Good thing.”

“Is it?” Dan asks. “People usually do not enjoy that.”

“Well I enjoy that.” Phil’s sincere, anyone with eyes that soft has to be sincere, “Cos maybe I’m a bag of words in a blender.”

“Why’s the cupcake wearing sunglasses?”

“Because...” Phil trails off, does the whole speaking before you’ve actually thought of anything to say thing, “it’s scared of the dark.”

“Doesn’t make sense.”

“Doesn’t have to make sense, it’s art.”

“Oh.” Dan murmurs. “Art is subjective?”

“Art is whatever the Phil says the art is.” 

“Do you think a horse could wear a leather jacket?”

“I think they should wear a leather jacket, then maybe I’d think they were less likely to stomp me to death.” Phil says, and Dan is just glad someone agrees with him, “or more? No. Less. They’re like horse anarchists but gentle at heart? Only have it in for the government which is... yeah, correct. I trust the horses in the leather jacket.”

“Blender words.” Dan laughs. 

“Blender words.” Phil agrees. And it’s so fucking nice, to talk to someone who doesn’t just look at him funny whenever he says anything. 

Dan doesn’t want it to end, but it’s going to end because even weird little liminal spaces have to be over at some point. 

“It’s nearly eleven.” Phil tips his head toward the clock above the door, the big and little hands betraying Dan and his desire to stay right here. 

“No it isn’t.” Dan argues. “If you don’t look at the clock then it can be any time you want.”

Phil seems to consider it, then he grins and hands Dan another cup of something that isn’t coffee. It’s hot chocolate this time, at least Dan thinks it is but he can’t see past all cream. 

“Do you think you can get home alright?” Phil asks. “Not to judge your friends but they all seemed more sober than you but still... just fine about leaving you here.”

“They do that.”

“A lot?”

“Ermm—a lot, yeah, I guess. I dunno I’m fun entertainment until I’m just annoying.” Dan shrugs, prodding at the whipped cream mountain with his tongue. “Which is fine.”

“It’s not fine.” Phil says, sounding angry on Dan’s behalf, “they should care about you, or at least want to know you got home alright.”

“Used to it.” Dan can’t really think about right, confront the fact that his friends have never really been friends. That he exists within the group in that weird sort of way. Where everyone in it is closer to each other, he always just seems to be living out the outskirts. They’ll ask him to come out but if he doesn’t it’s not a big deal to any of them, they won’t miss him. 

“Doesn’t mean it’s not crap.” Phil cuts through his thoughts, which is good because he might’ve been about one second away from crying, “do you think you’ll be alright getting home? Sorry I’m not trying to get rid of you, my eyes are just demanding I take out my contact lenses.”

“I can get an Uber.” 

“Not to be... like, this isn’t me trying to be smooth, because I literally won’t ever be. But can you take my number and let me know you got home safe?”

—————— 

[11:31pm] Hey. Home. Thanks for.. ya know I jus realised I didn’t pay! Dan x

[11:32pm] Oh I wondered what your name was. Night night Dan x

[11:05am] did you mean it when you said you’d teach me how to bake?

[11:15am] yeah, I meant it. Come and see me at 11pm? 

**Author's Note:**

> [if u wanna reblog on tumblr, i always appreciate it!](https://fictropes.tumblr.com/post/646093541944311808/the-tops-only-special-complete-2779-t-i-like)
> 
> as always, lemme know your thoughts!<3


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